


heart wide as the sea

by pyrophane



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Dreams, Jaehee + reset theory, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Seemingly Unrequited Pining, Zen's route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: “It’s just—this sounds ridiculous, but I’ve been having these dreams, lately.” 
Jaehee begins to remember.





	

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively: Jaehee Knocks On The Fourth Wall. 
> 
> this fic is set post-zen route, and contains mild spoilers for both jaehee’s route and zen’s route, as well as an assortment of untagged background ships. i ended up referring to the mc with just pronouns—please let me know if it’s unclear! tumblr post of this fic can be found [here](http://delineative.tumblr.com/post/151231264565/fic-heart-wide-as-the-sea), if you're interested.
> 
> title from 爱上张无忌 by 毛阿敏, which i listened to nonstop during the writing process. my undying gratitude to andrea for looking over this ❤️
> 
> edit: translation into russian by [sontaranian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sontaranian/pseuds/sontaranian) available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5156167)!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you busy? I apologise for calling so late, I was—I wanted to talk to you.”

“Jaehee! I always have time for you, what did you want to talk about?”

“It’s just—this sounds ridiculous, but I’ve been having these dreams, lately.”

“What sort of dreams?”

“Well… they’re—they started just before the party. I suppose it’s the stress of the last few weeks catching up to me. This might—take a while to explain. You were there. They were mostly about you, actually. ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She insinuates herself into the day-to-day machinations of their cobblestone organisation with an unnerving ease, egging on Yoosung’s questionable spending habits, batting incomprehensible jokes back and forth with Seven, bulldozing over Jumin like she’s had years to practise. And Zen, too, naturally, though her impact there is more of a meteorite crater than a slow drift into routine, and he looks at her with all the wonder of the firmament in his eyes. “It scares me, sometimes,” she’d confessed, once, sleepless, during a call to Jaehee at three in the morning. Jaehee pictured her in Zen’s apartment, stretched out on a couch, the dim bluish glow of her phone screen catching on the planes of her face. “I don’t know what to do with so much devotion. I don’t know how to return it.”

“I’m sure he knows how much you care for him,” Jaehee said, to which she’d made an indecipherable noise at the back of her throat, and changed the subject.

The truth is, she’s grown closer and dearer to them all in the span of a few weeks than Jaehee had in two years. Jaehee won’t pretend it doesn’t leave her a little wistful, a little envious, but it isn’t as though she’s unaffected, either. There’s steel in her eyes, something magnetic. The first time Jaehee saw her, from across the room at the party, she’d seemed so small until she’d lifted her gaze and smiled at Jaehee, and then the force of her presence was like a miniature sun _._

Sometimes, in her less charitable moments, Jaehee allows herself to believe she’s the only one who’s seen that blazing resolve. But of course Zen has the art of unmasking perfected; Jaehee learned it from the best.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Really?”

“Yes. We were preparing for the party. Mr Han wanted to open a cat hotel.”

“A cat—okay. Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Planning a party as extravagant as the annual RFA fundraiser is almost a year-long commitment. There’s a short détente coasting on the coattails of the last party, a flurry of cheques from guests and random philanthropic individuals arriving in Jaehee’s in-tray to be recorded and passed on. By the time the donations trickle to a standstill it’s just about time to start planning the next one. The venue has to be booked at least half a year in advance, personalised thank-you cards encouraging the recipient to attend again have to be written and sent to the guests, new guests have to be identified and sought out. And yet they always seem to end up inviting people like Seven’s neighbourhood friend with the psychic uncle.

V is as elusive as ever; Jumin frowns at the news but otherwise doesn’t bat an eyelid, which is, in Jaehee’s private opinion, as good a sign as any of heartbreak. He isn’t accustomed to not getting what he wants. He isn’t accustomed, in general, to the concept of excess. Jumin takes, thoughtless, smoothing down the lapels of her coat, resting a proprietary hand at the small of Zen’s back, rattling off his latest demand even before turning to face Jaehee, as though he’s as assured of her presence at his side as he is of his own shadow. Jaehee takes this in stride. She’s a practical woman. She hoards her luxuries.

Life goes on. Jaehee wakes up at six, goes to work, sleeps at midnight if she’s lucky. Jumin gives her a pay raise but no additional vacation time. Zen signs on to a new musical by a director of worldwide renown; there are rumours of an international tour. The rumours are confirmed a day before the official press release—“two weeks, just the Asia-Pacific region for now,” she tells Jaehee over the phone, “but if anyone can break into the international market, it’s our Zen.”

Jaehee rises, works, sleeps. She dreams up piecemeal sights and sounds, things that she cannot possibly know. Strung together they could almost make an alternate history. She doesn’t pay it any mind; there are more pressing concerns at hand.

One day before Zen leaves, Jumin calls her into his office. He’s holding one of the thank-you cards between two fingers. “Assistant Kang, please explain this.”

Jaehee takes the card, turns it over. It’s addressed to the Lady of the Bracelets, thanking her for her appearance at the event and complimenting her work. They’d had a rather engaging conversation about cloisonné beads at the party. “Is there something wrong with it, Mr Han? All the information regarding the Lady of the Bracelets should be correct, I checked it personally…”

“This should be addressed to the Lady of the Workbasket.”

Jaehee blinks. “No, the Lady of the Workbasket couldn’t attend due to a scheduling conflict.”

Jumin gives her a strange look. “Assistant Kang, you’re mistaken. It was the Lady of the Bracelets who couldn’t attend, not the Lady of the Workbasket. You may check the guest list again if you like. I’m disappointed. I expect you to be more diligent in your work.”

“I apologise. It won’t happen again,” Jaehee says. Now that she thinks about it, she can also recall chatting to the Lady of the Workbasket about the advantages and disadvantages of synthetic fibres. She frowns. Where had the other memory come from?

“Also,” Jumin continues, and Jaehee puts the incident out of her mind. “I will be at a conference in Busan this weekend. You’ll need to take care of Elizabeth 3rd. I’ll have her dropped off at your apartment tonight.”

“Of course, Mr Han.” Jaehee sighs; she’d only managed to vacuum the last of the shed fur off her upholstery on Tuesday. “I’ll do my best.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“That, unfortunately, is the beginning. As usual he delegated the task to me.”

“A cat hotel… it sounds disturbingly like something Jumin might actually try to do. Like a fancy holiday house for rich cats?”

“Yes, exactly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Jaehee steps into the lobby at the end of the day Zen is waiting for her, a pale point of easy stillness amidst the dark-suited flurry of movement towards the front doors. He meets her gaze, lights up—there’s really no other way she can put it—and starts towards her. For a moment she’s speechless; even out-of-place in Jumin’s territory he’s beautiful, confident, luminous.

“Hello, Zen,” she says, regaining her composure as he draws near. He’s carrying a box under his arm. “Did you need anything?”

“Just dropped by to give you this,” he says, holding the box out. She takes it, unthinking, and stills when she sees the label.

“I wanted to get you something, to say thanks. For everything. You do a lot for the RFA, and we really appreciate it—even Jumin, that bastard—” this said without any real heat, “—and I think—we don’t tell you that enough. How important you are to everyone.”

“I—I can’t possibly accept this—”

“Please,” he says. “At least as a favour to me.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well. I suppose—thank you,” she says. She blinks, and her vision goes soft at the edges. She shifts the box so it lies flush against her forearms. “I—this brand—how did you know?”

“All her idea,” Zen says, fondness bleeding into his voice even in the third person. “I knew you liked coffee, but she was the one who picked it out. It looks pretty nice. I don’t…” He thumbs the back of his neck, smiles. It’s the most uncertain she’s ever seen him. She’s struck by the thought that she doesn’t really know him at all. “I don’t know much about coffee, though. Maybe... you could tell me about it sometime?”

The weight of the mill in her arms is familiar. “Of course,” she says.

“Well,” he says, and smiles again, more sure. “Would you like a lift home? I’ve got an extra helmet with me. Safety first and everything.”

“Motorcycles are an inherently unsafe mode of transportation,” Jaehee says, but she follows him out anyway. A favour out of friendly concern. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Zen walks ahead of her, silver and bright, and Jaehee’s heartbeat is steady, steady.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Did nobody tell him it was a ridiculous idea?”

“We attempted to, but Mr Han was being a little less reasonable than usual.”

“Ah, yes. Jumin’s normal setting being the shining example of reason. Angels weep in his presence. ”

“More likely from allergies to the C-hair.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jaehee doesn’t think much of her momentary lapses in memory until Yoosung shows up in her office the next day as her intern for the summer. She’s torn between wanting to sink to her knees and cry out of gratitude for finally having an assistant of her own, however temporary, and wanting to sink to her knees and cry out of despair at said assistant’s identity. Jaehee is a professional, though, and does neither, taking Yoosung around the office and introducing him to the various tasks that keep it running. By the time she gets around to explaining the intricacies of the workplace politics behind the notices pinned to the corkboard, his eyes have completely glazed over, so she takes pity on him and lets him have a break.

“Why did you decide to come here, of all places?” Jaehee asks, busying herself with a cup of coffee.

Yoosung shrugs. Jaehee is nearly certain he’s playing LoLoL on his phone. “Thought I should get something on my resume while I study… I wanted to get work experience at a vet clinic, but I left it too late, and Jumin—wow, do I have to call him Mr Han? That’s kind of weird. Anyway, he said he could get me a place.”

“Well, make sure you don’t rely on already knowing him to get through the summer,” Jaehee says. “Please fact-check things like ‘Pass Out After Drinking Coffee Syndrome’, do not believe them just because a pretty girl says so. Mr Han is not easily impressed by pretty girls, or by inaccuracies.”

“Uh,” Yoosung says. “By ‘pretty girl’, are you talking about Seven in nun costume, or…?”

“... I am not sure why your first conclusion was not the obvious one.”

“I’m confused,” Yoosung says, slowly. “Like, if we’re talking about her, then obviously _she’s_ pretty, but it was Seven who did the, um, coffee thing.”

“Yes,” Jaehee says, impatient. “She and Luciel were both pretending it was a grave medical condition to try and convince you that you were dying.”

“She didn’t, though? She told Seven off, she wasn’t playing along...”

Cold skitters down Jaehee’s back. “Are you sure? That’s not what I remember.”

Yoosung eyes her. “Yeah? This is not something I ever want to relive, but you can check the chat logs?”

One of the casualties in the ongoing war of attrition between Jumin and his father had been a small company dealing in old European books— _descriptive bibliography_ , Jumin had pronounced, disdain dripping off every syllable, and assigned interim management to her with the wave of a hand so she could assess the company’s viability. So Jaehee did her research, dutiful as always. Some of the books had been scraped clean to allow for new text to be written on the paper; when she held the translucent sheets up to the light there were sometimes fragments of faded ink still caught in the pages, ghosts of forgotten narratives. Jaehee can’t quite shake the feeling there’s that same layer of unseen history running just beneath the surface of this conversation, words overlaid on words, a palimpsest of meaning, and if only she could peel its skin back—

Jaehee sets her mug down. “I must have confused it with something else,” she says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Then Zen broke his leg, only—I went to his apartment to look after him, in the dream.”

“Oh?”

“Purely out of friendly concern, please understand. Nothing happened between us. He recovered just as rapidly as usual.”

“Let me guess: there was nothing in his fridge except beer.”

“Ha, you’re right. I don’t know how he manages to survive on a day-to-day basis. Anyway, I stayed with him while he recovered, and in the meantime I worked on the coffee project.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At home, Jaehee opens the chatroom in question, skims through the messages. Yoosung’s right. The memory’s there, too; she can remember reading them, pleased at the new member’s apparent levelheadedness. Odd, that she would misremember something so specific, and yet the proof is there on the screen, incontrovertible. If the past is absolute, then her memory must be the one at fault. But she’s a practical woman: once can be chalked up to any number of factors. Twice is the start of a pattern, one she doesn’t know how to interpret.

She’s still staring blankly at her phone when it buzzes with a new message. _Just dropped Zen off at the airport T__T all by myself for the next 2 weeks..._

 _Why don’t you come over to my place tonight? We can watch some of Zen’s musicals together,_ Jaehee types out, and hits send before her courage fizzles out.

Only a few seconds have passed when Jaehee’s phone buzzes again. _Sure! I’ll be there around 7~_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Coffee project? I thought it was a cat hotel?”

“Both, unfortunately. Mr Han was insistent I complete both projects at the same time, as well as some business with the cherry farm.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! That’s so much work! It’s your dream, not his. You should have just quit on the spot.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doorbell chimes. “Hi,” she says, when Jaehee opens the door. She’s grinning, colour swept into her cheeks by the chill. She’s beautiful like this, comfortable and glowing.

“Hi,” Jaehee says, a little self-conscious. “Come in!”

“So what’s on the menu tonight?” she asks, once they’ve made their way into the living room.

“As promised, _The Red Pepper Was So Hot: Collector’s Edition._ ” Jaehee lowers her voice. “It includes scenes that were cut from the original for… content.”

She giggles. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s watch!”

Jaehee slides the disc into her DVD player and sits back down beside her. In an absurd bout of teenagerish misery, Jaehee notes the half-handspan distance between their thighs. As though reading Jaehee’s mind she promptly moves to knock her knee against Jaehee’s, and keeps it there.

In the interests of facilitating an untainted first experience, Jaehee manages to keep her mouth shut through the first half of Act I, but then there’s a pivotal scene that has to be pointed out because it changes the meaning of another scene in Act IV, and from then on Jaehee gives in and keeps up a running commentary as the musical progresses. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to mind, adding a few remarks of her own every now and again.

“You’re so cute when you get enthusiastic,” she says, near the end of Act III, in the middle of a rapturous lecture on the subtleties in Zen’s delivery of recurring musical motifs.

Jaehee flushes. “Zen’s performances are certainly worthy of intimate— _detailed,_ worthy of detailed analysis… his delicacy of emotion, his precision of movement, his passion for the role—”

Jaehee is interrupted by the autotuned cry of _RING DING DONG RING DING DONG RING DIGGI DING DIGGI DING DING DING—_

“Sorry! That’s Zen,” she yells, flailing for her phone. “Mind if I—”

Jaehee shakes her head.

SHIMmer’s heartfelt anthem is cut off with a decisive swipe. “Hey babe!” she says. She leans back against the arm of the sofa, swinging her legs up and across Jaehee’s lap. “How’s the tour going? Mmm, sorry, you don’t have a monopoly on the word ‘babe’, get in faster next time. Hmm? I’m at Jaehee’s place. We’re talking about Jumin.” Jaehee raises her eyebrows and receives a conspiratorial wink in return. “Yes, that Jumin. Jaehee’s showing me this modelling shoot he did once—it’s very artistic, he looks good. You should see it.” The injury in Zen’s voice is audible even at this distance. “Yeah, I guess you’re alright too. I’m kidding! We’re watching one of your musicals. Yep, got it right in one guess. Of course I like it! Yes, I noticed, Jaehee pointed it out. She’s providing plenty of in-depth narration. I bet she knows more about your shows than you do.”

She asks about his day and lapses into thoughtful silence as Zen speaks on the other end of the line, offering the occasional hum of agreement. She looks at home, talking to Zen on Jaehee’s old couch, legs slung over Jaehee’s. She looks alight. This is a dangerous thought to be having. Heat lodges in Jaehee’s chest like a splinter, and Jaehee thinks, _oh._

Jaehee has loved Zen for so long the ache is almost a comfort now, the twinge in her chest when she thinks of him second nature, an old bruise, so much background scenery integrated into her understanding of the world. Muscle memory as familiar to her as waking up in the morning, the tread of it faded, worn around the edges. She’s never been one for prodding at sore teeth or picking at scabs but she doesn’t hold it back: the softening pain, how it alchemises itself into warmth, or perhaps the other way around.

There are few things she doesn’t hold back. This is one of them—though she’s careful, of course, to curate distance between them. Like all indulgences it comes with a toll. She keeps the appropriate admiration for his skill distinct from everything else. She strangles the rest. It would be indecorous to use her professional proximity to gain personal proximity, after all. Jaehee is aware they belong to different spheres, and she maintains that separation as meticulously as she can.

It’s been long enough that Jaehee has forgotten how much it hurts, wanting.

“Mhm. Take of yourself, drink lots of water, don’t break any bones,” she’s saying now. Soft, fond. If there’d been any doubt as to her reciprocation of Zen’s devotion, there is none now. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye.” She pockets her phone, turns back to Jaehee. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” Jaehee replies. Then, in keeping with the evening’s running theme of adolescent masochism, Jaehee says, “You really do care for him.”

She lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Yeah. I—I do. Zen wants an anchor, someone to return home to, and I—he told me that the RFA was like his family. I wish I could’ve been there for him earlier. I wish I could’ve been there for you, when your aunt left you alone all through university. Ah, but let’s not talk about depressing things, we’ve still got the last act of _Red Pepper_ to watch!”

“Yes,” Jaehee says, unable to think of anything else.

Jaehee has only ever talked about her family in a dream.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It was certainly a lot of work. Even Luciel ended up helping—”

“Seven helped? _Really_? And you let him?”

“It was a kind sentiment, I suppose. And he hacked into Mr Han’s company servers to do it. I—I could not accept, but I was simply too busy to prevent him from doing so. Luciel was very determined, you know how he gets. I believe Zen had promised him that he would pay for some expensive gas for his cars. ”

“So what did he do, put together a powerpoint of photos of Elizabeth 3rd?”

“... Well, yes, actually. That’s exactly what he did.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Don’t you ever get sick of it,” Seven says, without preamble, as soon as Jaehee picks up. It’s been an exhausting day at the office, and the last thing she wants to do is wade through his cryptic not-quite-jokes in search of the meaning he strews here and there. But there’s something in his voice that stops her from making her excuses and hanging up, so she stays on the line.

“Nice to hear from you, too,” Jaehee says. “Sick of what?”

“You know.” Jaehee doesn’t. “This whole thing. Him, her, Jumin winning all the fucking time.”

“...Luciel,” she says, as kindly as possible. “Are you drunk?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. Probably.” Seven laughs, a wet, miserable sound. “You know me, Defender of Justice and fairy godmother at everyone’s service. I’m trying to be happy. I want them to be happy, ‘s why I pushed for them to—but it’s hard, it’s really—when I can rem—when Jumin gets everything he wants, because he’s Jumin, and we’re—god, I sound like Zen, from—from before.” He laughs again. “Sorry for taking up your time, ma’am.”

“Luciel.”

“I’ll be fine by the morning, so let’s just—let’s just forget about this, okay? Goodnight, Jaehee.  Please don’t tell them. Sleep well,” he says, as though either of them will be anywhere other than at their desks tonight, and hangs up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“How did the presentation go?”

“Luciel did surprisingly well with the slides. The presentation itself went smoothly, and we were able to close a deal on the cat hotel.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Mr Han was—unhappy with the results. He had a long list of requirements I hadn’t met, though he hadn’t given them to me prior to the presentation, and I don’t think we would have been successful had I attempted to put them into action. He was also quite upset that I’d spent so much time on the coffee project—sorry, what was that?”

“Ahaha, nothing in particular. Go on.”

“You see, he wanted me to complete it poorly on purpose, because it was assigned from his father. But I feel—it isn’t right for me to accept a task and then do it carelessly, and there was so much to learn with coffee! I don’t know how I knew it in my dream—I must’ve read it somewhere—but did you know the flavour of the beans changes depending on how you roast them? It’s really fascinating! I might do some actual research when I get some free time.”

“You should! Maybe you have prophetic dreams like Zen. Who knows?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jaehee’s phone lights up just as she’s sending off the last of the night’s reports. It still qualifies as the night’s reports, she reasons, since she’d started them then. If it’s Seven again she’ll ignore it. His uncomfortable hungover epiphanies can wait until a more respectable time of day. But the name on the screen is much more welcome; Jaehee farewells her chances of any sleep in the foreseeable future, and picks up. “Hello?”

“Hey. I wasn’t sure if you were still awake,” comes the response.

Jaehee sags onto her bed. Watery grey predawn light trickles through the gaps in her shutters. “I had to finish some urgent matters for Mr Han. _You_ should be asleep—”

“Yes, yes, good sleep habits are important for my health.” She laughs, and Jaehee can’t help the smile that tugs at her mouth in return. “Everyone keeps telling me that, and then starting chats at one in the morning.”

“Well, if it’s too late to save ourselves, we might as well try and save you,” Jaehee says, dry.

“Probably a bit late for that, to be honest. Actually... I was wondering if I could just talk to you?”

“Of course,” Jaehee says. “What did you want to talk about?”

A sigh. “Now that I’m talking to you, I’m not even sure anymore. It’s—the last few weeks have been kind of overwhelming. A month ago I’d never even heard of the RFA, and now...”

Jaehee hums. “I found it difficult to adjust, too, when I first joined. It’s a lot to take in. They’re all quite… loud, particularly Luciel. But I think you’re doing remarkably well. You’re quite the natural. The party was a resounding success, thanks to your efforts. ”

“Yours, too! And… yeah, I could’ve gone without the kidnapping thing, or the bomb threat, but I’m glad I joined. I’m glad I met you. And I’m glad I met Zen.” The affection when she says his name carrying even through the tangle of reception towers, signal deterioration. Something in Jaehee responds in sympathy. “You know, I didn’t think I’d fall for him when I first stumbled into the RFA—to be honest, I was pretty determined not to. I thought… ”

“Who—” Jaehee swallows. “Who else did you think you…?”

She’s quiet. Dead air, punctuated by the faint hiss of static. For a single dizzying moment, Jaehee is sure, with the acute clarity of something seen in hindsight, that she will say _you._ “Jumin, if you can believe it.”

The breath rushes out of Jaehee’s lungs in a sudden violent wave of what she’s sure is relief. “Mr _Han_?”

“I know, right? That’ll teach me not to judge a book by its cover. You should’ve seen Zen’s face when I told him.”  

“I can imagine.” Jaehee wrestles her breathing under control. She’s not Zen, but anyone who works for Jumin while possessing a functional sense of self-preservation knows how to suppress a reaction.

“He was all, ‘Babe! I can’t believe you’d betray me like this!’ And then he pretended to sulk, like his whole thing with Jumin wasn’t just a slightly grown-up version of pulling pigtails in the playground or whatever, I bet he even thinks I haven’t _noticed_ him going all starry-eyed—it’s actually kind of hilarious, he gets so angry with himself afterwards—sorry, is this weird? Gossiping about your employer is probably a bit weird.”

“I—yes. Though I am glad that Zen and Mr Han have reconciled.”

“Yeah. When I couldn’t reach Zen, and Jumin was the only one who—yeah. I don’t know what I’d do if I’d lost him. I guess I’m always going to be in Jumin’s debt.”

 _You don’t owe him anything,_ Jaehee thinks. _He already has so much._ She won’t ever say it, though. It isn’t her place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So what happened next?”

“Well, I thought about my position, and I thought about what I really wanted, and I decided to resign—”

“Good! Oh, I mean—sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It was all thanks to you. In the dreams you helped me realise—you and Zen both helped me realise I had a chance to be happy.”

“You do! Jaehee, you still do.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Against her better judgement, Jaehee finds herself calling Seven. He picks up on the ninth ring, just before the call would have redirected to voicemail.

“God Seven speaking,” he says, chipper. “What can I do for you today?”

“Tell me what you know,” Jaehee says. “About the dreams.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific—”

“Last night,” Jaehee says, “you said you were jealous because of Jumin. But you were going to say it was because you could remember, weren’t you? You remember things too. ”

“I thought we agreed to pretend that conversation never happened?”

“No, you said that and then hung up before I could reply.”

“Well. What do you remember, then?”

“I was—with her.” Her fingers tighten on the smooth plastic of the phone. “I was happy.”

“There’s more than one route to happiness,” he says, and cackles.

“You are not actually being helpful at all,” she says.

“Sorry, what was that? I think the connection’s breaking up, oh no—”

“Luciel.”

He sighs, unravels. “There isn’t much I can say. I think you know, already.”

“Does Zen…?”

“No,” he says, sharp. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way. He’s not like us. It’d eat him up, and I’d give my life to keep him walking in the light.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Strangers waiting at a train station, their contact only momentary for all their nearness. “I was surprised when you answered the call,” Jaehee says, at last. “I didn’t think you would.”

“There are a lot of things I didn’t think I would do,” Seven says. “Guess it all came down to who I was doing them for.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So I decided to pursue my passion, and I… well. I opened a little bakery café. It isn’t that I’m not grateful for my current career—I am, I truly am, it’s a secure position and it pays very well, and that’s all I can really ask for—it’s just that I felt so happy, being with you. Oh... this is a little embarrassing. I asked you to join me, and we opened the café together.”

“Oh—I’m honoured. I’d love to open a café with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zen’s apartment—Zen’s-and-her apartment—is unsettling. Everything is a shade off familiar, though Jaehee has never been here before; as always, the universe dismisses this protest. Chairs too close together. Clock to the left of the doorway rather than the right. A bookcase where there should have been a vinyl record player.

Regardless, it has been a lovely afternoon, talking to her without expectation or direction. Fitting for the sense of finality it carries. Zen comes back tonight, and Jaehee can’t help but think that things will have to change between them, now.

“It’s getting late,” Jaehee says, standing. “I shouldn’t impose any longer.”

“Ah, Jaehee, wait—” Her fingers close on Jaehee’s wrist, and Jaehee stops. She’s worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. Beneath her fingers, Jaehee’s skin is burning.

“Yes?”

The seconds elongate themselves, a feeling like dust stirring, settling, gone to gold in the afternoon sunlight. She lifts her other hand, rests it along the swell of Jaehee’s cheek. It takes every last ounce of self-resolve Jaehee can shore up to keep herself still. If she moves, Jaehee thinks, surely the dream will shatter. “Tell me,” she says. “What do you want?”

“I,” Jaehee says, the word leaden on her tongue. _You_ is battering at her throat like her pulse, the shape of it parting her lips, and it would be so easy to say it, the way some part of her had wished she’d said it earlier on the phone, the way some part of her knows she’s said it before, in another time, another world, and for a single dizzying moment she is sure that she will. And then—

_I’m trying to be happy. I want them to be happy._

—all the warmth of the afternoon evaporates in an instant. Jaehee wrenches her wrist free, stumbles backwards. Wrong, wrong, this is wrong. “No,” she says, barely aware of the words slipstreaming out of her mouth, “how could I—it would break Zen’s heart, it would _destroy_ him, don’t you know how much he loves you—how much he’d give up for you, I—how could—”

“Jaehee—”

“I can’t—it isn’t fair to Zen, or to you, or to me, I—I have to go.” Jaehee steps back again, and again, until she collides with the doorframe, and then she turns around and flees the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ah—I didn’t mean to presume or anything, but I’m glad you feel that way. I know I wasn’t very kind to you when we first met—”

“No, no, I understand why you acted the way you did. You only wanted the best for Zen. I would’ve done the same.”

“Yes… it’s such a relief to hear that. I’m always grateful for your friendship—sometimes I just feel like I’m being… greedy, I suppose, like I’m taking more than I’m... um, are you—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I—it’s nothing, just—déjà vu, I guess. Something like that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back in the safety of her own apartment, Jaehee tosses her phone onto the couch without looking and staggers into the bathroom, as far away from it as possible. She’s overstepped the boundaries, she’s let the distinctions blur. Stupid, stupid. She grips the edge of the sink to still her shaking hands. _This is what you get for wanting too much,_ she thinks. _You had enough, more than enough, and now you have nothing._

What is she supposed to tell Zen? She needs to think. Damage control. She can contain the situation. She turns the tap on, cups her palms in the stream, splashes water on her face. Theirs is a fairytale romance, timeless, love bigger than the pages it’s written on. She cares for them both too much to step between that. She’ll have to apologise to both of them. She’ll have to step away, insist on distance. It isn’t too late. At least she had the sense to keep her mouth shut, a small mercy. Past that point things wouldn’t have been salvageable; she’s had two years of experience feeling for the knife edge upon which something moves beyond recovery.

Jaehee turns the tap off. Winces at the squeak of metal against metal. In the mirror, her skin’s still flushed. Water in her eyelashes smudging her view of the serious gaze, the sallow cheeks, the mouth that might’ve held softness years ago. _My kindness is being buried_ , she’d said once, only she hadn’t said it at all. But the memory beneath the memory remains, as if it could insist itself into existence. What she needs now is the clean slate, the mercy of forgetting. Let Seven carry his cross himself. She was happier in ignorance.

She rests her forehead against the sheet of glass. From this distance all she can see is darkness, anyway. She breathes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_[New Message] From: 707_

_ 01110011 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101000 01101111 01110011 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101100 01100001 01110011 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 _

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The doorbell chimes. Jaehee’s towelling her hair dry. She sets the towel down and opens the door to find two people on her doorstep.

“Hi,” Zen says.

“Hi,” Jaehee echoes, faint.

“I think we should talk,” she says. Jaehee steps aside, silent, to let them through.

“How was the tour?” Jaehee asks, mechanical, polite. They’re standing in the living room. Fourteen days ago she sat on that couch and hooked her legs over Jaehee’s lap and talked to Zen. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe that, too, is a false memory, a phantom from a different history.

Zen blinks. “It was good, it—I have an early-release DVD for you, it’s in my suitcase—I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

She makes a frustrated sound. “Are we going to keep stepping around each other?”

“There isn’t anything to step around,” Jaehee says.

“Then I’ll say it. I wanted to kiss you, earlier today. I think you did, too, unless I’ve completely misread the situation—please, hear me out,” she says, when Jaehee opens her mouth. “I was…” She exhales. “I was trying to maybe subtly direct you towards the idea of dating us? Both of us?”

It’s fortunate that Jaehee is standing in front of the couch, because her legs decide that holding her body upright is too strenuous a task, and she sinks onto the cushions.  For no discernible reason, her eyes well up. She blinks, furious with herself. “I—what?”

“We figured it might be easier for her to try,” Zen explains, apologetic. “I kind of botched the coffee mill thing—”

“So you admit I’m smoother than you are!”

“—Babe, _please—_ but we both really like you. Ah, I don’t know how to do this,” Zen admits, fidgeting with the hem of his vest. “You already know all of my lines… I was going to get down on one knee and say, ‘Jaehee Kang, would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend and my girlfriend’s girlfriend?’ But she vetoed the idea—oh, no, no, don’t cry, Jaehee, please don’t—” He surges forward to clasp her hands as the tears begin to escape, all of that earnest scintillating intensity pinpointed on her, and hadn’t she wanted this, hadn’t she hoped, childish, dreaming, barely daring to imagine the scope of something so unattainable?

Jaehee extracts a hand to swipe at her eyes with her knuckles. It takes some effort to remember the mechanics of speech. “I—it doesn’t seem right, for me to be this lucky, I haven’t done anything to deserve—”

“You deserve it,” Zen says, firmly. “You deserve to be happy. I’m your fan—we’re both your fans. You’re the best person we know. We want—we’d like to make you happy.”

“I need—I need to think,” Jaehee says. Memories feathering over one another, all in the wrong order, snatches of conversations she’s never had, might still have, and she breathes out, lets it all subside. She wonders if Seven knew. She decides it doesn’t matter.

“Of course,” she says, taking hold of Jaehee’s free hand. “As long as you need. But—it’s not a no?”

“It’s not a no,” Jaehee says, and smiles. In her chest, a quietly diffusing warmth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh. Well, at any rate, I’ve taken up enough of your time tonight. I hope this wasn’t too odd. I feel quite forward, telling a girl I’ve been dreaming about her.”

“Maybe I’ll be the one dreaming of you tonight!”

“Then I hope they are pleasant dreams.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> _all the best of what we've done is yet to come_
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> ([tumblr](http://delineative.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/ennezahard))


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